


What Will Be Wept

by Elliewood



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Heartbreak, M/M, Sexual Content, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliewood/pseuds/Elliewood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you've read the comments on my other stuff, you know that I'm not a big fan of ST:TMP. In fact, after I watched it through the first (and really, the only) time, I thought, Well, that's one movie I don't need to see again. Except for this one scene, where Spock first arrives on the bridge of the <em>Enterprise</em> after those years on Vulcan and Kirk rises to meet him.  The pain I saw in their reunion is the inspiration for this story, which I originally started months ago and had nearly completed when I kinda sorta deliberately but accidentally deleted it (and a s***-ton of other work) when I updated my distro (Linux noobs, beware the power of the superuser). This version is much leaner, and I like the sparseness of it better.</p><p>I made up the part about the VSA, btw. My vision is that Spock gets to Vulcan, tells them (again!) thanks but no thanks, and goes immediately into seclusion to prepare for <em>kolinahr</em> (his own form of weeping).</p><p>Now the <em>next</em> story will <em>not</em> have any angst. Pinky swear. OK maybe a little.</p></blockquote>





	What Will Be Wept

_no_

He can hear nothing in the sudden silence between them but the blood rushing in his ears, the suffocating pressure just beneath the points of his jaw forcing his field of vision down to the narrow circle of Spock's hand curled around the door latch, frozen in mid-turn.

Again, louder.

_NO_

His own hand floats into view from outside his peripheral vision, a pale and drifting phantom ship, and he watches with equal parts desperation and horror as it moors itself to the other.

He hears Spock's voice, low and uncharacteristically soft, barely audible above the pounding of his own heart.

"What is it you wish?"

His tongue is locked against the roof of his mouth, his eyes hard and hot like steel marbles as they watch his fingers tug at Spock's, pulling them off of the latch to enfold the welcome warmth of them within his own cold ones. He turns his head toward the familiar gaze, cool and curious as always but lit now with something he cannot name, and forces himself to breathe, the molecules expanding his lungs in an endless inhalation before reversing course to carry with them the only word he can say.

 

#

 

"I don't know how you always get away with it," Uhura murmured into his shirt.

Her former captain looked down at the dark head nestled just below the rank of decorations on his chest and bent his own head to kiss it lightly. "Get away with what?"

She raised her face to his and pouted as she gestured with one hand, the one holding the nearly empty wine glass, toward the throng in the next room. "This. This whole... _thing_. You got no table or chairs or vidscreen or _nothing_ and you still throw the best party I've been to in years. Puts that official reception to shame." She raised her other hand to poke him square in the sternum with one perfectly manicured finger. "You got some magic spell or something, golden boy?"

"It must the company," he smiled back. "You're not a hard crowd to please."

"He's got a point, my dear; you're forgetting where you've been for those years," drawled McCoy from behind her, his voice raised over the din of pulsing dance music and laughter. "Not a lot of fancy parties in space, and that Starfleet shindig was just another dog and pony show." He pulled at the collar of his own dress uniform in annoyance as he gestured with his head toward the crowded space beyond. "But Jim, I agree you've made a silk purse out of a sow's ear here. This is damn fine."

He kept one arm wrapped around her shoulders as he twisted to place his own drink on the counter behind him and reach for the bottle of bourbon. "Your judgment is clouded, Doctor."

"Not clouded enough. Keep pouring." The glass in McCoy's hand was steady under the stream of amber liquid. "All I'm saying is, just goes to show that you don't need a lot of frills and furbelows to have a good time. As long as the food is good and the drink is better. And the company, as you say." He nodded toward the front room and sipped the whiskey appreciatively. "But even so, it takes some kind of talent to pull off a great party when you haven't even finished unpacking. Or,' -- he raised an eyebrow as his gaze swept the crowded room -- " _started_ unpacking, I should say."

He shrugged as he looked over Uhura's head at the few boxes and empty bookshelves that lined the walls. "I don't need to unpack. Don't have much worth unpacking, just a bunch of uniforms and some holos. The bed's set up and the books are coming out of storage tomorrow, so I'm all set."

"Hnhh," she snorted. "You think you're all set 'cause you're not sleeping on the damn floor?" She ignored his chuckle and glared at him with all the indignation she could muster. "What you're all set for is nothing but a lonely bachelor life. No woman in her right mind would set foot in this place."

"Now _she's_ got a point. I'll leave you two to settle the issue of how to feather your new nest."

He watched McCoy and his freshened drink move away toward the teeming front room before looking back down to meet her glare with mock sternness.

"May I point out, Lieutenant Commander, that your presence here disproves your last statement?"

"Don't get smart with me, _Admiral_. One Mr. Spock is enough." She craned her neck away from his chest to peer at the crowd. And speaking of, I don't...where..."

"Right there. Eleven o'clock."

"Good," she sighed in relief as she rested her head back on his chest. "I thought he'd gone already, and I didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

Muscle flexed under her face as he raised his arm to drain his drink and set the empty glass on the counter behind him. "He leaves later tonight. Early tomorrow, in fact, oh-three-hundred. All his stuff is already on the _Ugaya_. He'll catch a shuttle to spacedock directly from here." His now-empty arm curled around her, his fingers interlaced to embrace her loosely.

"Chair of the Vulcan Science Academy. Good for him." She raised her tipsy eyes to his face. "And what about you? What are you going to do?"

She watched him watch Spock, the thump of his heart beneath her cheek, and saw the veil that dropped over his eyes as he looked down a moment later to answer her.

"I'll think of something."

 

#

 

_no_

Spock's hand is curled around the door latch, frozen in mid-turn.

_NO_

His own hand floats into view, a pale and drifting phantom ship that moors itself to the other. Then Spock's voice, low and uncharacteristically soft.

"What is it you wish?"

His fingers tug at Spock's, pulling them off of the latch to enfold them within his own as he turns his head toward the familiar gaze, cool and curious as always but lit now with something he cannot name. He forces himself to breathe, the molecules expanding his lungs in an endless inhalation before reversing course to carry with them the only word he can say.

"Stay."

He feels the sudden heat flood his cheeks because now Spock knows, he must know, and he grips the hand between his even tighter so that he doesn't have to say it again. Through closed eyes he senses Spock's head tilt to one side, the eyebrows drawn slightly together in inquiry.

"For what purpose?"

And he finds himself incapable of answering, so instead

 

_He pulls the hand to his chest, backpedaling to tow Spock through the empty apartment littered with party detritus, plates and cups and glasses resting on the unopened boxes and the bare floor, the awkward home of a bachelor._

_"Look at all this, she's right. I'm terrible at this. Here, you start opening boxes, I'll turn up the heat and get you some tea. I do have hot water at least."_

_He leaves Spock to investigate the contents of each container and moves to the kitchen to set the kettle, prying open even more boxes to find the mugs as the water heats._

_"I have located it."_

_"That's great," he calls over his shoulder. "Go ahead and set it up. You can be white."_

_He brings two steaming cups, tea for Spock and coffee for himself, over to where Spock is sitting easily on the floor, having finished arranging the pieces for the opening move. His own groaning descent into cross-leggedness is met with one raised eyebrow -- backslash -- and he grins with the joy of a private joke as he passes Spock his tea._

_They play well into the wee hours until the coffee can no longer prevent the yawning and eye-rubbing that signal Spock to rise and brush his robes back into place. "You are fatigued. I suggest you rest while I retrieve my belongings from the Ugaya. I trust that I may bring them here until I am able to secure my own living arrangements."_

_"You trust correctly." He rises as well to walk Spock to the door. "As long as you can find enough floor space."_

_A glance around the largely empty apartment is followed by another raised eyebrow -- forward slash -- and a nod as Spock steps into the cold night air, dark robes fluttering in the glow of the light streaming from the open door. He waves once, closes it, and passes back through the apartment, his footsteps echoing on the bare floor on the way to his bedroom where he undresses, washes, and climbs into bed, its scent of new linen and laundry powder mixing with the remnants of his coffee and Spock's tea in his slowing exhalations. And it seems only minutes later that he awakes to the sound of the entry chimes, jerking up and out and and lurching toward the front door to find Spock, silhouetted in the entryway by the bright sunlight of morning, surrounded by his own boxes and carrying their warm bakery breakfast in a bag._

 

His eyes are still closed, cheeks hot with shame, clinging to Spock's hand like a lifeline.

"You wish me to remain here, on Earth with you, to keep you company. So that you will not be lonely."

_yes I'm sorry_

_yes_

There is silence for a moment, then the warmth of Spock's other hand as it rises to rest on his shoulder.

"Very well."

 

#

 

 

McCoy saw it immediately the next morning, the shadowed eyes and unnatural pallor, and he seized Kirk's elbow as they approached each other on the Academy plaza.

"What's wrong?"

Kirk blinked twice, then again, and McCoy knew he was about to be lied to; the sunny smile that followed was another tell.

"Nothing, why?"

"You seem...not yourself. Tired."

The grin widened in relief. "Late night last night, too much booze. You were there, remember?"

"We've had a lot of late nights over the years. You never looked like death warmed over."

Kirk shrugged his arm out of McCoy's grip and turned his head away. "I'm getting old, Bones. Can't bounce back like I used to."

"No, it's something else." McCoy stepped in front of him to peer more closely into the eyes that the affable smile hadn't quite reached. "Come see me for an exam. I want to check you over, make sure you're adjusting appropriately to being dirtside."

For a moment Kirk's face was completely, eerily blank. Then the smile glowed again.

"Sure, no problem. What works for you?"

Worried blue eyes narrowed at the uncharacteristic capitulation. "While we're still heroes, before the normal load of shit hits the fan. End of next week at the latest."

"Next Friday's open. I'll be by at ten-hundred." A quick wave and another false smile, and Kirk was gone, leaving McCoy to stare at his retreating back and wonder, after all their years together, how much of this man he still did not know.

 

 

#

 

_no_

Spock's hand, frozen in mid-turn on the door latch.

_NO_

His own hand floats into view and moors itself to the other, clinging in desperation. Then Spock's voice, low and uncharacteristically soft.

"What is it you wish?"

His fingers tug at Spock's, pulling them off of the latch to enfold them within his own, the molecules expanding his lungs in an endless inhalation before reversing course to carry with them the only word he can say.

"Stay."

He feels the sudden heat flood his cheeks because now Spock knows, he must know, his head is tilting slightly to one side, the eyebrows drawing together in inquiry.

"For what purpose?"

And he finds himself incapable of answering, so instead

 

_He pulls the hand to his mouth and crushes it against his lips, feeling the rush of astonishment the rash gesture evokes as he backpedals to tow Spock through the empty apartment littered with party detritus, plates and cups and glasses resting on the unopened boxes and the bare floor, their combined momentum carrying them to the one place they both knew it would end, tumbling backwards onto the bed, pulling Spock with him and rolling to rest on top of him, looking into those eyes and laughing as they darken even more, the astonishment yielding to resolve. He brings the still-imprisoned hand to his mouth to engulf two of its long, elegant fingers, eagerly sucking on them as his other hand moves beneath the voluminous robes up the length of one leg and over to find him already hard and oh damn so hot, and he tears at the undergarment to claim the prize and stroke it, pump it, lick it, he can't decide what to do, he is an animal. Spock's eyes are wide, lips parted slightly, and he watches those eyes slowly drift closed as he sucks him and hears, overjoyed, a single tiny groan escape, and it galvanizes him, he crows in triumph as he rises to tear off his trousers and descends again to stroke the hard column, coating it until it glides easily between his hands, reversing himself to kneel over it and guide it inside, slowly until he is fully impaled and rocking gently on top oh god it's good so good so full, the fresh landscape of Spock's legs motionless before him, the bare skin of his feet and shins and knees and thighs oh my god_

_yes_

_and he begins to fuck Spock, rising slowly up on his knees and sinking back down, a gentle oscillation that swells gradually with each downstroke, the dark pleasure inside a delight he has never allowed himself before this. Again he surges upward along Spock's length, and over again, each caress driving him toward an end unlike any of his experience, a bright event horizon that cannot conceal the black void of its core within, and a sudden alarm forks through him as he draws nearer to that end that it seems must end him. He slows and stills himself, panting, too close to the edge he fears to topple over, reaching behind himself for the security of Spock's hands, but they clamp down onto his hips instead, forcing him back upward and down, again and_

_again_

_and faster now goddamn he's making me do it he's making me, and he comes apart between those hands, all cognition gone as he arches helplessly, deaf to his own hoarse cries and blind to the sight of his cock rearing and spurting like a live thing, barely aware of the hips convulsing beneath him and of the beloved face that gasps into the space between his shoulder blades. And his senses return slowly in the languid eternity that follows, lying on his stomach now with his face in the sheets, the scent of new linen and laundry powder and his own damp seed, Spock wetly soft and shrinking inside him, breath warm in his ear, full weight resting upon him as if to reverse entropy and force his molecules back together._

 

His eyes are still closed, cheeks hot with shame, clinging to Spock's hand like a lifeline.

"You wish me to remain here, on Earth with you, as your lover. So that you may take your pleasure of me."

_yes I'm sorry_

_yes_

There is silence for a moment, then the warmth of Spock's other hand as it rises to his face, the palm hot against his mouth, to trace the curve of his brow with one finger.

"Very well."

 

#

 

A frowning McCoy watched as Kirk removed his cap and overcoat.

"Take off your shirt."

Kirk scowled back as he hung both on the coat rack in the corner of the exam room. "Can't you just scan me? I've got an ops command meeting at ten-thirty."

"Quit arguing with your kindly doctor and do what you're told. Shirt off, up on the table. That's an order."

A visible protest formed on Kirk's face, then dissolved in a shrug of surrender.

"OK, have it your way."

McCoy folded his arms and watched, his frown deepening as Kirk pulled off the shirt, folded it to place it on a chair, and climbed to sit upright on the examination table. A minute passed in silence as McCoy circled the table, his eyes surveying his patient's upper body. A flush of color rose in Kirk's cheeks at the scrutiny.

"Bones, come on. What's the problem?"

"Shut up and let me do my job." He unwound the stethoscope from around his neck. "Deep breath in." He listened carefully, then moved the chestpiece. "Again." He circled to stand behind Kirk and repeat the procedure on his back. "Keep breathing. Deep breath."

"A scanner would be faster. You're the only doctor I know who still does that stuff."

"Then you don't know any other good doctors." He curled the stethoscope back around his neck. "Lie down."

Kirk complied, grimacing at the touch of the cool hand that moved from his chest down to his abdomen. "What does that finger-tappy thing tell you that a tricorder won't?"

"Plenty. Now turn over." McCoy repeated the percussion. "Any pain, tightness, feeling of fullness anywhere?"

"No. Can I sit up now?"

"Yeah. And you can cancel that meeting, too."

Kirk shook his head as he swung himself up. "I can't just cancel a command level meeting. And thanks for the concern, but I feel fine."

"Jim, I last saw you a week and a half ago, after that party." McCoy folded his arms, one hand pulling at his lower lip. "It looks to me like you've lost five kilos, maybe six, since then."

"Why's that a problem? You always nagged me about my weight on the _Enterprise_. You should be happy."

"It _is_ a problem. No, don't put that back on yet," he said as Kirk reached for his shirt. "I'm ordering a full workup on you right away." He jotted a few notes on his PADD. "Precipitous weight loss always means trouble, usually big trouble. Now I didn't detect any tumors or organ abnormalities just now, so whatever it is, it's in its early stages. But we need to move on this immediately."

Kirk's face, eerily blank, before he reached out with one hand to encircle McCoy's wrist. "No."

The stylus froze. McCoy raised one expectant eyebrow and waited.

"I'll tell you. But not here."

"All right, come by my place tonight." He set the PADD down and handed Kirk his uniform. "Any reason I shouldn't break open the 1792?"

"No." He pulled the shirt down over his head and reached his arms through, then looked McCoy in the eye for the first time that morning. "I think you probably should."

 

#

 

_no_

No sound between them but the blood rushing in his ears, no sight but that of Spock's hand curled around the door latch, frozen in mid-turn.

Again, louder.

_NO_

His own hand floats into view from outside his peripheral vision to cling to the other in desperation.

Spock's voice is low and uncharacteristically soft, barely audible above the pounding of his own heart.

"What is it you wish?"

His eyes are hard and hot, steel marbles in his head as they watch his fingers tug at Spock's to pull them off of the latch and enfold them within his own.

"Stay."

He feels the sudden heat flood his cheeks because now Spock knows, he must know, and he senses Spock's head tilt to one side, the eyebrows drawn slightly together in inquiry.

"For what purpose?"

And he finds himself incapable of answering, so instead

 

_He pulls the hand to his mouth and crushes it against his lips, backpedaling to tow Spock through the empty apartment littered with party detritus, plates and cups and glasses resting on the unopened boxes and the bare floor, their combined momentum carrying them to the bedroom, Kirk tumbling backwards onto the bed and laughing up at Spock._

_"You were great, just great tonight. You want to know how great you were? Are? Let me tell you..."_

_\--backslash--_

_"You are inebriated. Allow me to assist you."_

_One boot falls, then the other, then the wriggling dance of trousers over hips and shirt over shoulders, his muffled whine as the decorations scrape his cheek followed by a sigh of contentment into the pillows. He opens one eye to find Spock standing by the bed._

_"Come on in here. Come here to me."_

_\--forward slash--_

_He watches Spock unfasten the robes to remove them and the underclothing beneath before sliding into his waiting arms and pulling the sheets over them both. He spoons him from behind, yawning into the space between his shoulder blades._

_"Do you know how proud I am of you? Not that I'm taking any credit, you know, just want you to know..." He hiccups before continuing. "So amazing to watch you, everyone wanting to talk to you, congratulate you, just be around you. I just watched you all night long."_

_"And ingested a good deal of alcohol in the process, it appears."_

_"Doesn't mean I don't mean what I'm saying, you know. Just makes it easier to say." Another yawn as he snakes one arm around Spock's waist, the thrum of the heartbeat beneath his elbow lulling him to sleep._

_He dozes against Spock's back into the wee hours, until the dry mouth and dull headache of a hangover awaken him, and he feels Spock rise and pad silently out of the bedroom to return a few minutes later, bearing a tumbler of water and an analgesic pill. He accepts both gratefully, then turns over and pats the space behind him in invitation, the blankets settling back over them as Spock enfolds him from behind, the tickle of chest hair on his bare back, the warm bulk of genitalia against his buttocks. He pulls Spock's hand off his hip and brings it to his mouth, speaking sleepily into its fingers._

_"I never want to be without you."_

_Spock uncurls two fingers to trace his mouth, the breath warm in his ear._

_"I return the sentiment."_

_And it seems only minutes later that he awakes to the bright sunlight of morning streaming through the window, his face in the sheets, the scent of new linen and laundry powder and fresh coffee steaming in the cracked Academy mug that Spock holds out to him from the side of their bed._

 

His eyes are still closed, cheeks hot with shame, clinging to Spock's hand like a lifeline.

"You wish me to remain here, on Earth with you, as your mate. To care for you."

_yes I'm sorry_

_yes_

There is silence for a moment, then the warmth of Spock's other hand as it rises to his face, the palm hot against his jaw, the thumb slowly tracing a line across his cheekbone toward his ear.

"Very well."

 

#

 

The apartment was spare, but the two easy chairs, the table between them, and the bottle of 1792 was more than welcome enough. Kirk's smile of appreciation and easy laughter defused enough of McCoy's concern that nearly an hour passed in convivial conversation before he remembered his objective and leaned in.

"Enough chit-chat. Time to 'fess up."

He watched as Kirk took a sip of the bourbon and nodded, his eyelashes fluttering twice, then once again.

"Nothing much to tell. I'm just working a hell of a lot. Not eating much, not getting a lot of sleep either."

One eyebrow raised in disbelief. "This job's not beyond you, Jim. Just more paper, piled higher and deeper. You don't need to exhaust yourself."

"Yeah, but I'm getting the same shit I did when I got my first command. Youngest Starfleet officer ever promoted to the admiralty. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing, but I know I can't afford to screw it up."

"You've always been serious about your career; that's not new for you. There's something else." McCoy sipped his drink, his eyes watching Kirk over the rim of his glass. "And don't give me that 'Who, little ol' me?' look. You know I know it, so come clean."

"I, ah...It..."

He watched Kirk's neck slowly flush pink, took another sip, and waited.

"It has to do with...Spock." He didn't look at McCoy as he spoke, his gaze fixed instead on the drink in his hand.

"Spock?" McCoy frowned. "I thought he quit Starfleet, headed back to be the big shot at the Vulcan Science Academy."

"He did."

"Have you heard from him? Is something wrong? "

Kirk's eyes widened as he shook his head.

"Not a word. So far as I know, he's fine."

"Then what's the issue?"

"The issue." He drained the contents of his glass and reached for the bottle. "The issue is, it's the big, the one, ah, _thing_ , you know. The, ah, most important...thing."

The flush darkened to red, crawling upward to his cheeks as he poured. McCoy was still for a moment before realization dawned.

"Does he know?"

"I don't know." Kirk closed his eyes and tossed back half of the bourbon. "I think so. Maybe. We never discussed it." He stared down at his hands, tracing the bottom of the glass with his middle finger.

"Seems to me a damn good time to discuss it would have been before he left." McCoy felt his hand tighten around his own glass. "How could you let him go without telling him? How could you do that?"

"I couldn't. Couldn't tell him."

"Because you were afraid he'd turn you down? That's not like you."

Kirk shook his head. "That he wouldn't."

McCoy's irritation faded. "I...I don't follow."

"Let me ask you something." Kirk looked up, his expression suddenly pained. "In all the years you've known him, has Spock ever refused to do anything I asked of him? Not just on the job, but personally? Has he ever turned me down?"

Settling ice cubes clinked in the silence that stretched between them as McCoy searched his memory.

"No," he finally responded, certain at least of that point. "Not that I know of."

"You're right." The eyes shuttered back downward as Kirk' gaze returned to his glass. "I've thought about it, a lot, and there's not one thing I would ask of Spock that he would refuse. Not a single goddamned thing." He took a swallow. "Even if it meant giving up the Vulcan Science Academy."

"Wait, you mean...You mean to tell me..." McCoy felt his own face flush. "You didn't tell him how you feel because of his _job_?"

Kirk nodded, his downcast eyes round as they stared at his hands. "Bones, think about it. For Vulcans, the VSA has more influence, garners more respect, than any political body or leader. We're talking about the same passel of assholes that crapped on him before he enlisted, and now they're asking him, _begging_ him, to come back and lead them forward, because he's better in every way than anyone else they can drum up." He paused to toss back more of his drink. "Spock's basically going to be the president of the whole goddamned planet. I couldn't stand in his way."

"Sweet Jesus, Jim, he's not a child! He has the right to make that choice for himself."

He saw Kirk's mouth tighten. "And if he had wanted to stay with me, he would have said so. Or asked me to go with him."

The misery in his voice did nothing to abate McCoy's growing irritation. "Did it ever occur to you that he might not have wanted to stand in _your_ way, Mr. Youngest Admiral?"

Kirk shook his head again. "What occurred to me is how much this move means for Spock. And he damn well deserves it."

"Are you _insane_?" Droplets of bourbon splashed onto the table as McCoy slammed his glass down. "Who are you to decide what he deserves?"

Kirk looked him full in the eye for the first time that evening. "I know he deserves better than to spend the rest of his life with a selfish man."

And McCoy found he had no ready rejoinder, his anger dissipating as Kirk looked back down to gaze through his glass into the bleakness of the future he had created for himself. And he realized that, despite his years of experience as a doctor and counselor and friend, he had nothing to say to a man who had knowingly chosen to break his own heart.

 

 

#

 

_no_

He could hear nothing in the sudden silence between them but the blood rushing in his ears, the suffocating pressure just beneath the points of his jaw that forced his field of vision down to the narrow circle of Spock's hand curled around the door latch, frozen in mid-turn.

Again, louder.

_NO_

His own hand floated into view from outside his perpiheral vision, a pale and drifting phantom ship, and he watched with equal parts desperation and horror as it moored itself to the other.

He heard Spock's voice, low and uncharacteristically soft, barely audible above the pounding of his own heart.

"What is it you wish?"

His tongue was locked against the roof of his mouth, his eyes hard and hot like steel marbles as they watched his fingers tug at Spock's, pulling them off of the latch to enfold the welcome warmth of them within his own cold ones. He turned his head toward the familiar gaze, cool and curious as always but lit now with something he could not name, and forced himself to breathe, the molecules expanding his lungs in an endless inhalation before reversing course to carry with them the only words he could say.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

He brought the hand toward him and clasped it between both of his for a fraction of a second, then the businessman's handshake, a squeeze and two brisk pumps, before releasing it and stepping back.

"Good luck, Spock. Always, man. Always."

Spock closed his eyes and inclined his head politely, then straightened, and he found he could not meet those eyes but stared at his mouth instead.

"I wish you the same, Admiral." And turned and walked away into the cold night, a flutter of robes in the glow of the light that streamed from the open door, then gone.

He closed the door, turned out the lights, and passed back through the empty apartment littered with party detritus, plates and cups and glasses resting on the unopened boxes and the bare floor, his footsteps echoing on the way to his bedroom where he undressed, washed, and climbed into bed to bury his face in the cool pillow, its scent of new linen and laundry powder and nothing more.

 

 

 

> _What is not said will be wept._
> 
> \--Sappho

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read the comments on my other stuff, you know that I'm not a big fan of ST:TMP. In fact, after I watched it through the first (and really, the only) time, I thought, Well, that's one movie I don't need to see again. Except for this one scene, where Spock first arrives on the bridge of the _Enterprise_ after those years on Vulcan and Kirk rises to meet him. The pain I saw in their reunion is the inspiration for this story, which I originally started months ago and had nearly completed when I kinda sorta deliberately but accidentally deleted it (and a s***-ton of other work) when I updated my distro (Linux noobs, beware the power of the superuser). This version is much leaner, and I like the sparseness of it better.
> 
> I made up the part about the VSA, btw. My vision is that Spock gets to Vulcan, tells them (again!) thanks but no thanks, and goes immediately into seclusion to prepare for _kolinahr_ (his own form of weeping).
> 
> Now the _next_ story will _not_ have any angst. Pinky swear. OK maybe a little.


End file.
